


Liminal Moment

by mysticanni



Series: Smile [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Smile (Band) Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22848241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: Roger, Brian and Tim are all pining for each other. Will one of them be brave enough to confess their feelings?
Relationships: Brian May/Tim Staffell/Roger Taylor
Series: Smile [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642495
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23
Collections: Smile Weekend





	Liminal Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'Tears' prompt for day one of Smile Weekend.

‘If you bottled your tears and put them under a microscope then tears cried in joy would look different from, say, tears of grief,’ Roger insisted, taking a bite out of his bacon roll.

‘That has to be a load of bollocks,’ Tim scoffed, ‘Tears are tears.’

Roger shook his head, chewing frantically so he could continue arguing without his mouth full. (Roger’s mother’s voice maintained a regular critical commentary in his head: don’t talk with your mouth full; keep your elbows off the table; turn that light off when you leave the room; have you done this yet, Roger; have you done that yet, Roger? Sometimes he could ignore this voice but often he found himself obeying it.)

‘Is this something you learned on your dentistry course?’ Brian smirked, ‘The one lecture you managed to attend this week was about tears, was it?’

Roger looked hurt. ‘I read it online, actually,’ he confessed, adding, ‘We don’t get taught anything that interesting in dentistry classes.’

Tim studied Roger over the rim of his mug of tea. ‘You read it online? I’m kind of thinking this was on social media rather than some kind of online scientific journal?’

‘That doesn’t mean it isn’t true,’ Roger muttered, glaring at Brian as he laughed. ‘The post had pictures of the differences.’ He fished his phone out of his pocket. ‘I’ll show you...’

They had stopped for breakfast following a long overnight drive back from a gig. Tim and Roger had mugs of strong tea and bacon rolls. Brian had black coffee, having rejected all the vegetarian or vegan options, which had, admittedly, been limited.

‘Grief looks quite structural,’ Tim remarked, peering at Roger’s badly cracked phone screen. Roger had fallen in a muddy puddle when they had been giving the van a push-start and his phone had been a casualty. ‘You would think it would be more... splotchy... like the tears of laughter are.’

‘Onion tears remind me of snowflakes,’ Roger said.

‘Onion tears?’ Brian echoed, feeling left out of this conversation, jealous of the closeness of Roger and Tim’s heads as they peered at Roger’s phone.

‘Tears you cry when you chop onions,’ Roger explained.

‘Tears of elation at a liminal moment,’ Tim read from Roger’s phone screen, ‘like a flower, beautiful. What’s a liminal moment?’

‘Liminal means transitional, I think,’ Roger murmured, sipping his tea. He watched Brian grab his phone from Tim, clearly feeling left out. ‘I kind of took it to mean maybe, like, when you’re... going through stuff...when you're on the cusp of your life changing...'

Brian snorted. ‘Who chooses the names?’ he demanded, sliding Roger’s phone to him across the sticky stained table top.

Roger wiped his now sticky phone on the driest part of his wet, muddy, jeans. His knees throbbed from when he’d fallen when the van wouldn’t start. Tears of exhaustion looked like fern leaves and Roger felt close to crying some. He gulped the last of his tea, abandoned the remainder of his bacon roll and stood, chair legs scraping horribly on the concrete floor. ‘I’m going for a smoke,’ he announced, hurrying away as Brian opened his mouth, presumably to lecture Roger on The Evils of Smoking.

Tim looked at Brian thoughtfully. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine,’ Brian replied curtly then added, ‘maybe a little bit tired.’ It was not Tim’s fault that Brian felt... Well, he wasn’t sure how he felt, he thought. That was part of the problem. Since he’d kissed Tim after a performance a few months ago (Ten weeks, three days, eight hours and twenty-four minutes ago, actually) he’d been imagining doing so again. Tim had neither mentioned the incident nor tried to kiss Brian again, however, not even when Tim had broken up with the person he had been in a relationship with at the time. Brian was not sure what to make of that. He was also not sure what to make of the fact that he had also imagined kissing Roger.

‘Do you think Roger hurt himself when he fell?’ Tim wondered. He felt Roger needed to be Looked After, although he was well aware that Roger was perfectly capable of looking after himself. Roger just seemed so bewildered by life at times. Tim supposed that if Roger had a tendency to invite Drama then he at least also seemed to attract knights in shining armour.

And really, Tim asked himself, was that what he wanted to be: Roger’s knight in shining armour? A treacherous little voice inside his head said that was exactly what he wanted to be, although he also wanted to look after Brian. Brian, he thought needed Reassurance.

Brian looked guilty. ‘He’d have said if he had hurt himself,’ he declared after a moment. ‘If he skinned his knee he’d have claimed he had broken his leg.’

Tim took a gulp of tea. ‘I’m not sure he would, actually.’ And if Roger had skinned his knee then Tim wanted to kiss it better.

In truth, Brian wasn’t certain Roger would have told them if he had hurt himself either. Roger might elevate a small drama into a crisis but Brian thought Roger would not ask for help during an actual crisis. Not that falling over was a crisis. If Roger was hurt, though, then Brian wanted to be the one to make it all better for him. Instead, he reflected, he had just hurt Roger’s feelings. Had it been Roger’s apparent closeness to Tim that had bothered him?

*

Roger shivered, wishing he owned a warmer jacket. It took him a couple of attempts to light his cigarette as his hands were shaking. He thought both his knees were bleeding. His jeans were coldly wet and covered in mud from the puddle he had fallen in and in the darkness it was hard to see if there was any blood adding to the uncomfortable dampness of the fabric. His shoulder also ached although he was not entirely sure if that was from when he had fallen or from drumming all night.

Tears smarted behind his eyes. What type would these be, he wondered, self-pity maybe? If they were due to the bitingly cold wind, which he thought he might pretend to himself they were, then he thought they would fall into the category of reflex tears, as he was reacting to his environment.

The post about the different types of tears might not have stemmed from a scientific study (although it just as easily might have done) but it appealed to Roger. He liked the images. The whole idea was interesting.

Roger contemplated how much it would cost to get his phone screen fixed. Brian had been scathing about that too: ‘Didn’t you think to check your phone was secure before starting to push the van, Rog?’

He didn’t think he could leave it too long to fix his phone: despite his calloused fingers he could feel the jagged edges giving him little cuts every time he touched the screen. He suspected getting it fixed would cost more than he could easily afford.

The horrible thought occurred to him that they would probably need to push the van again to get it to start now. He said a little silent desperate prayer to the Goddess of Ancient Vehicles (Vanessa, perhaps, or Engina) that the van would start first time.

*

Brian affectionately ruffled Roger’s hair as they returned to the van. ‘Are you okay, Roggie?’

Roger nodded wearily. ‘Just tired,’ he mumbled, feeling Tim sling his arm around his shoulders and leaning into the embrace.

‘Do you want me to drive, Bri?’ Tim offered.

Brian considered this. If Tim drove then Brian would be able to cuddle Roger. Brian preferred to drive himself though. ‘I’m the one who just had the most caffeine so I’ll keep driving.’

Brian climbed into the driving seat. Roger was in the middle seat, tantalisingly close. The interior light showed how muddy Roger’s jeans were. He made a mental note to turn the heating up a bit once they were underway, in case Roger was cold. Brian could smell citrusy soap, sweat and cigarette smoke. Roger. ‘I wish you’d stop smoking,’ Brian was appalled to hear himself snap irritably at Roger.

‘Not now, Bri,’ Roger sighed. He sounded exhausted. ‘You can give me the full lecture with graphic pictures of smoker’s lungs and tales of people dying slowly and painfully in, say, two days time? We’ll schedule it in. Just not now, please.’

Tim took his place on the other side of Roger and closed the passenger door with a clunk. ‘Do you need a cuddle, Goldilocks?’ he offered.

‘Please,’ Roger smiled, leaning towards Tim, away from Brian.

Brian tutted, reaching across to untangle the seatbelt Roger was wrestling with. Roger looked at him, wide-eyed, a small smile on his face, ‘I thought you were leaning in to kiss me there, for a second, Bri,’ Roger said.

Tim laughed. Brian could feel his cheeks growing hot.

‘You two kissed once, after a gig, didn’t you?’ Roger asked, gesturing between Brian and Tim.

‘We did,’ Tim confirmed, ‘and it was lovely but I was in a relationship at the time.’

‘You’re not now, though,’ Roger pointed out, nestling against Tim.

‘No,’ Tim agreed, cradling Roger to his chest.

‘Pray this heap of junk starts,’ Brian grunted, turning the key in the ignition. The van spluttered, shuddered then miraculously the engine grumbled to life.

Roger said a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess of Ancient Vehicles as they set off. Tim was humming a tune he didn’t recognise. Brian turned the heating up, which was surprising, and Roger dozed off.

He awakened, disoriented, as the van halted. ‘We’re home,’ Tim murmured.

Roger’s knees throbbed as he climbed out of the van, shivering as cool air enveloped him. It felt like wounds were re-opening. He stumbled groggily around to the back of the van to help unload it. They stored their gear in the small spare room of their shabby basement flat. The room wasn’t exactly spare, of course, and using it for Roger’s drum-kit and their other equipment meant they had needed to squash three single beds into the largest bedroom. Roger sometimes wondered how much longer Brian would be able to handle the lack of privacy.

Once everything was back in its place they congregated in the kitchen. Roger yelped in surprise as Brian lifted him and sat him on the large wooden kitchen table. ‘Drop your jeans...’ Brian commanded.

Roger grinned. ‘This is a bit sudden, Bri, you could wine me and dine me or at least kiss me first!’

‘...So that I can see the damage you’ve done to your knees,’ Brian huffed.

Roger obediently wriggled his jeans down, wincing as material peeled painfully away from his knees. He wished he was wearing nicer underwear, not this once red now pink-grey pair with the fabric detached from the waistband in several places.

‘Ouch,’ Tim commented, as Roger’s knees became visible. ‘They look sore. Let me clean them for you.’

‘I’m sorting them!’ Brian snapped.

Roger glanced at his legs. Both his knees were literally a bloody mess. ‘Why don’t you take a knee each?’ he suggested, feeling impossibly tired, ‘and I’ll judge who does the best at kissing it better.’ He looked at Tim, who was grinning, and then at Brian, who looked ready to cry. ‘The winner can have a blow-job and the runner-up can have a hand-job.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Roger!’ Brian spluttered, glaring at Tim as he laughed.

‘Why is it ridiculous?’ Roger wondered. ‘You want me, don’t you, both of you? Or have I got that wrong?’ He blushed. He might be crying tears of embarrassment in a minute, if he had misjudged this.

‘I want you, babe,’ Tim assured him.

Brian still looked as if he might cry. What would those tears be classed as, Roger wondered, shock, disappointment, hope? ‘The way I see it,’ Roger said slowly, trying to pick the right words, ‘you two like each other and I think you both like me and I like both of you. Why don’t we shove our beds together and have some fun?’

‘Well, when you put it like that...’ Brian seized the front of Roger’s t-shirt, almost yanking him off the table as he pulled him into a fierce kiss.

‘Oh,’ Roger murmured, when he was released. He watched as Brian gave Tim an equally passionate kiss. Then Tim’s hand was cupping the back of his head as he pressed his lips to Roger’s.

‘Let’s get your knees bandaged,’ Brian suggested, ‘then we can move the beds and perhaps try them out?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Tim agreed cheerfully. ‘Does he need bandages?’ he added.

‘He’s allergic to the adhesive in normal wound dressings,’ Brian explained, ‘so he needs dramatic bandages like the diva he is.’

‘Of course he does,’ Tim kissed Roger again, ‘we’ll look after you, babe don’t you worry.’

Roger felt full of joy but didn’t feel like crying any tears of joy. Being filled with emotion but shedding no tears felt like a victory. ‘We’ll all look after each other,’ he suggested softly, ‘and it’ll be glorious.’


End file.
